


Subway

by androgenius



Series: Kink Requests [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: Chikan, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, Molestation, Subways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/androgenius/pseuds/androgenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day on his morning commute, Jesse can't help but notice the girl in the plaid skirts and ugly sweaters. And once in a while, he can't help copping a feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's almost too easy.

Jesse knows-- most girls don't dress like she does, almost like they're setting themselves up to be on _To Catch A Predator_ \-- and even if they do, most girls aren't _nearly_ as attractive as her.

The knee-high socks.

The almost-impossibly-short plaid skirts that would need to have her bending over just barely for him to see all the way from here to Paris.

The ride on the F train never lasts nearly long enough.

She gets on before he does at Prospect-- perhaps at Church or Fort Hamilton, he's always wondered-- and he couldn't be more grateful, leaving him to intentionally position himself right behind her as the crowd seems to engulf the train, pushing them inexorably close together.

The way she dresses almost makes him wonder if she isn't actually younger than she seems at first-- at least until he catches a glimpse of her student ID attached securely to her bag via a small, see-through card sleeve.

Not that it matters if she's legal, Jesse biting back a small smile as the subway train jostles to a stop at Smith, leaving him _accidentally_ stumbling into the small girl in front of him with a stilted _sorry_.

 

&

 

Accidents happen. Rachel knows that.

No one can blame anyone for being jostled-- not on the morning subway, not with enough people crammed into a tiny space to make anyone feel claustrophobic.

So when she feels a hand firmly grabbing hold of her ass through her skirt as she's wedged firmly between the pole she was holding onto and the distinctly male body behind her, she doesn't think twice about it, deciding to write it off as just another accident.

After all, she can't blame him for needing something to grab onto in the morning scuffle on the subway.

"Sorry," he mutters against the shell of her ear, Rachel unable to help the shiver that runs down her spine. A few seconds later, everyone is back up on their feet, more people entering into the crowded traincar, grabbing hold of the bars here and there, the man behind her pushed just a little closer.

When the back of his hand brushes up against her ass, through her skirt, Rachel doesn't think twice of it.

Hasn't for a good two weeks now.

Not even when his knuckles slip under her skirt and glide softly over the barely-exposed swell of her ass.

The train jostles them again as it comes to a stop at Carroll, Rachel stiffening only slightly as his hand grabs hold of her ass again, fingers digging into the soft skin under her skirt as his thumb presses into the fabric.

"Sorry," he whispers again, Rachel swallowing hard.

The problem with being on the F train in the midst of the rush of the morning commute, is just how packed it gets. If Rachel were to make a commotion now, no one would look at her twice.

Not only would she be holding up the busy lives of every harried New Yorker with better things to do than to see to the well-being of _one_ girl, she'd be being unreasonable.

The chance of that kind of thing being an accident is far too great-- and besides.

She doesn't even know what he looks like.

The sudden realization strikes her with another shiver as her eyes go wide, Rachel whipping around only to find suited backs facing her, not a single suspicious person in sight.

Turning around again, she decides to forget about it-- at least until the stop at Bergen, the same body-- presumably-- pressed against her once more as more people get on the train.

In a strange way, a part of her wonders if she doesn't actually like this, Rachel squeezing her thighs together as she considers the idea of someone getting off on her-- her clothes, her ass, the feeling of her pressed up against them.

As the traincar becomes crowded enough to-- seemingly-- keep anyone else from getting in, Rachel knows she's trapped, the same body still up against her, wedging her tightly between the center pole and her stranger, wondering if she's feeling an erection pressing into the small of her back-- but the thought is cut off prematurely as she feels a slow hand moving against her-- first, cupping her ass-- then, slipping lower as a finger works its way between her legs to feel at her damp panties, pressing hard against her slit.

Her eyes go wide almost instantly, every word in her vocabulary seemingly trapped in her throat as she stares ahead of her in utter disbelief.

She can't believe this is making her wet-- wetter, even, than she was before.

The idle hand seems to still there for a moment, his one finger playing, stroking slowly back and forth as though gathering wetness with a sudden whimper from her.

Cursing herself almost instantly for the misstep, her whole body freezes as he pushes aside her panties, barely even having to move his fingers to press against her now-bare sex.

It's at York that she feels his fingers skidding up to flick against her clit, the movements of another wave of people pressing onto the train leaving him plenty of leeway to get away with it, Rachel's knees getting weak as a small squeak leaves her.

Not a breath, not a groan or a moan from the man behind her, and for a second, she can't help but wonder how he's not responding to this somehow.

That is, until the train starts moving again, and she feels him conveniently using the motion as an excuse to push not one, but two fingers inside of her virginal folds in one swift motion, her eyes going wide as her pussy clenches around him.

As the train surfaces and moves over the water, Rachel can hardly concentrate on her surroundings, the tall buildings of Manhattan coming into sight, the way the city seems to light up with motion from the new day. Not as he's finger-fucking her, slowly, languorously, as though intending this to stay with her for the rest of her day, the way he's somehow managed to turn this-- what she can't help but think of as rape-- into his fingers inexorably making love to her dripping cunt as he pushes inside of her again and again, and getting away with it, too.

She could have gotten off, she reminds herself-- at York. Waited just a few minutes for the next train to take her into the city if she'd truly felt uncomfortable.

But she didn't.

Instead she's here, getting finger-fucked by a perfect stranger, her knees buckling in orgasm just as his fingers still inside of her as the train slides to a stop at East Broadway, his hand coming out to curl possessively around her upper arm, her whole body trembling.

A part of her wonders if he's trying to _steady_ her, swallowing thickly with the idea of how it's almost _thoughtful_.

She shouldn't be thinking these things about a man who just raped her in the middle of a subway train, but she can't help it.

Her eyes close as the scent of her arousal mixes with his own, lightly-applied cologne that hardly overpowers, but that she knows she'll be smelling behind her all day long, leaving her to turn around to find no one there.

Almost as if nothing happened, he pulls his fingers free slowly as they stop at Delancey, quickly straightening out her panties over her sex once more as people start to get off the train, making it harder to conceal his actions.

The rest of the ride passes quietly-- aside from the way his hand stays grazing just barely against the swell of her ass, almost possessively as though to remind her who just left her knees shaking and trembling in his wake.

She gets off before him-- at Bryant Park-- but even she can't stop herself from braving it as she steps off the train and onto the subway platform, promptly turning around amidst all the others exiting the train.

The suited man leaning against the pole drawing two fingers into his mouth to suck clean as he locks his gaze with hers is more attractive than anyone she's ever met, Rachel's pulse suddenly racing as she quickly turns around again-- along with a firm mental note to do something, anything, next time to return the affections.

Maybe a bit of grinding her ass back into his crotch, she tells herself as she starts up the stairs and back up to the hustle and bustle of the city.

Starting tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a Friday when Jesse first fingers his little slut to orgasm on the subway.

His show that weekend, a new musical production on Broadway, keeps him mostly preoccupied, out of his head and his thoughts away from straying too close to the girl. And still the anticipation is almost too great, too delicious to keep them mostly innocent.

He can't help but wonder what his pure little Jewish angel would think if she knew that her subway nightmare has been nominated for a Tony. That he's the star of the biggest musical headlining on Broadway right now.

He's not stupid, has known for a good month now that she goes to NYADA from the logo on one of her shirts. Her student ID only confirmed his suspicions on Friday, and he knows that if she knew who he was, she'd have willingly squirmed out of her panties and let him finger her without so much as a word of complaint.

But where's the fun in that?

 

&

 

Normally, Rachel loves weekends. It's a wonderful time to attend rehearsals and lessons, exercise, focus on her personal beauty care routine a bit more rigorously, and take her time to do her homework in her own perfectionist way.

This weekend has been _hell_.

Her brilliant plan to start giving back what _he_ started was ruined the second she realized that it was Friday, and even getting up in time to catch the same F train she does every weekday morning _just in case he would happen to be on there_ proved fruitless.

With a whole weekend for her thoughts to fester on what might happen on Monday, Rachel almost can't believe the paranoid theories she comes up with herself.

Like maybe it wasn't actually that same attractive gentleman. Or maybe there are several of them, just intending to overpower her in a horrifying subway gangrape whenever she least expects it. Or perhaps he's the love of her life, even if she's quite possibly getting ahead of herself.

On most mornings, Rachel fully trusts her own perfect internal clock to wake her up from her light, yet fully satisfying slumber, precisely five minutes before she would formerly have set an alarm clock. Years of discipline have rendered her perfect for a competitive world in which others flounder, but not Rachel Berry.

For Monday morning, she sets five alarms.

One can never be sure enough.

Through her morning exercise routine, she's certain she'll have a heart attack, her heart already pounding even before she steps onto her elliptical machine, and even after that, the shower hardly calms her down while she refines her already meticulously preset plans for her clothing that day. She can barely down her flaxseed spinach and avocado smoothie for breakfast before she's headed out the door, arriving a good twenty minutes sooner than she usually does for the F train to Manhattan, purposefully-- even if it is with some annoyance at herself-- watching at least two trains go by before she gets on the right one, ignoring at least two open seats just to hold onto the metal bar in the center of the floor, knowing that _he_ couldn't possibly do anything to her if she were sitting down, wedged between an older gentleman who seems to think that his newspaper should be allowed to take up a seat on either side of him, and some kid whose music is loud enough even through his sub-par headphones that the whole traincar can listen in.

A part of her can't believe that the thought of a complete stranger doing things _to her_ beyond her control is turning her on in the first place. Relinquishing control, his hands over her skirt, through the fabric, feeling her ass. Under her skirt, on her skin-- she's not wearing any panties today, just a ridiculously short skirt, shorter than usual-- closer still, his fingers pressing deep inside of her--

That weekend she lost count of how many times her fingers desperately brought her to orgasm over and over to the thought of him slipping his fingers into her dripping cunt, shame only making her scream harder into her pillow.

Now, the wait on the subway alone is excruciating. Church, Fort Hamilton-- why hasn't she ever paid more attention before now as to who gets on and off the subway and where?

Just as they hit the stop at Prospect, the terrifying-- and pathetic-- thought hits her all at once.

_What if he won't show up at all today?_

What if he's sick? Or on vacation? Or worse-- what if he's _met someone else_?

It's a pathetic enough idea-- that she'd care this much about some stupid stranger (who also just happens to be, quite literally, a rapist) just because he _paid attention to her_ \-- that she grips onto the bar a bit more tightly, squeezing her eyes shut and swallowing hard as people shuffle onto the train.

It's only when she feels someone brush up against her from behind that her eyes snap open again.

The train isn't packed, but it's certainly crowded enough that standing this close to someone would be justifiable-- that is, until she feels a hand come forward to cup her ass through her skirt.

Her breath hitches as she swallows hard, the train jostling them a bit as it starts to move again, her stranger's hand coming out to steady her as she falls back against him.

When he touches her, it's like the whole world stops, all her senses kicking into overdrive, the feeling of his hot breath against her ear to whisper shutting down everything but what she can hear and feel from him, her eyes closing as his words cut through the thick haze of desperation clouding her thoughts.

"One would almost think you were _looking forward to this_ ," he whispers against the shell of her ear, the last confirmation to her that it really is him, that this is happening again.

"N-no," she shakes her head, swallowing hard even as she pushes back into his hand.

"A pretty girl like you not wearing all her clothes could get herself in trouble if she's not careful."

The fact that they've stopped at 7th barely registers with her as more people on the traincar make it easier for him to slip his hand under her skirt to gently massage at the skin of her ass, eager fingers digging into the soft flesh as she gasps, moving back against him.

"Shh," he admonishes, barely audible as his breath tickles her ear, "we wouldn't want to give ourselves away, now would we?"

She can't help but wonder what would happen if she stayed on the subway today. Would tenacity leave them both on the train until the end of the line up in Queens? How far would he go? Would he leave her to come again, over and over and over until she couldn't see straight anymore, couldn't hold herself up by the bar only to leave her helpless with only his arms around her body to support her and keep her standing up?

Would he fuck her, if he could?

On Saturday, two fingers on her clit and two more shoved deep inside of her, Rachel briefly wondered if he'd be a gentle lover, careful and kind if he got the chance to take his time with her and her body. If he'd stop to memorize each and every part of her, or whether desperation and possessive need would take him over long before then, the urge to fill her up with his seed and claim her as his overpowering.

Her eyes snap open again from her brief reverie when she feels his fingers play at her folds, rubbing at her entrance with a grin she can hear in his whisper.

" _You're wet_."

Rachel's not sure there's even been a second during which she _wasn't_ wet ever since stepping off the F train on Friday morning.

"Have you thought about it?" He smiles against the shell of her ear, cocky, just as his fingers slip inside of her, first one, then two. "My fingers in your tight little pussy?"

 _Yes_ , Rachel thinks desperately as more people get on the train at Bergen, forcing them closer together as she wonders if he's somehow managed to keep his expression passive almost this whole time, if no one can tell precisely what is happening between them here right now, if not a single other soul on this train knows the way her cunt is clenching around his fingers.

"My cock deep inside of you?"

 _God yes_ Rachel's brain screams as she swallows hard, withdrawing his fingers to move to her clit instead.

"I know you're a virgin... I can _feel_ it. So either you're a cocktease..." She's so desperately close, her knuckles turning white on the metal rod beside her, her only support other than the fingers somehow keeping her upright and standing, as though he's some kind of puppet master, Rachel his favorite plaything, "or no one has ever wanted to touch you like this before."

His facade falls only briefly as he smiles against the shell of her ear.

" _I_ think you're just a cocktease."

It takes her every last shred of self-control to keep her from screaming out loud when her body trembles through her orgasm, her breathing quickening even as his fingers slow on her clit.

"Good girl," he whispers through the screeching noise of the train slowing to another stop. They're wedged in tightly enough by now that no one would be able to tell, let alone think anything untoward about the gentleman now grinding his erection into her ass.

Whatever happened to her returning the favor?

Forcing herself to steady a bit, Rachel bites her lip, a slow hand first falling from its spot beside the other on the metal rod to her side, then gradually moving behind her thigh, up, up, until she finds his cock to curl her hand around through his slacks.

" _Oh_."

There's a small victory there, she knows. She can't help but wonder if he's closed his eyes at the feeling of her slight hand wrapped around his cock, if he's thought about her doing that, or if he's always the aggressor in his own fantasies.

The sharp intake of breath from him as she slowly unzips his slacks brings a smile to her face, her eyes closing as her hand slips past the barrier of fabric in her way to wrap around him.

It's her turn to gasp as the realization of his size hits her in full, feeling his hand move to still hers. When he whispers against the shell of her ear again, his voice is just barely strained, another small victory for her.

"I can't _fuck you_ on the train," he growls darkly, and she presses her lips together through her smile.

"Why not?"

" _Because I'm too tall_."

He practically grinds his words out through his teeth, but Rachel can't help but smile. _He's too tall_ , not _she's too short_.

Manhattan comes into view before them as he hurriedly zips back up against her, swearing softly under his breath. He straightens her out just as he did before, and for at least two stops, they're completely silent, no different from anyone else on the subway right now.

That is, until she feels him slip a piece of paper into the hand on her side, her eyes going wide as his lips find the skin just behind her ear again.

"Don't look yet."

 

&

 

Sometimes, Rachel is good at following instructions.

>   
>  _230 W 49th St  
>  8 o'clock_   
> 


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel loves her classes at NYADA, her teachers, the subject matter, how much everyone demands of her, and the praise she gets whenever it's appropriate. On most days, seeing the day come to an end in time for her to head back to Brooklyn is met with disappointment.

Today, she can hardly wait for her lunch break alone, alternating between running and walking to the computer lab as people here and there remind her that running isn't allowed in the hallways.

She's not a patient person on the best of days, but today, nothing seems to be loading fast enough, Rachel's foot bouncing irritably under her desk as she waits for google to tell her where she'll be headed at 8pm (sooner, if she's being realistic), a million disaster scenarios having already raced through her mind up until this point.

What if it's not a real address, what if the place ends up being in an ambiguous location, what if the building in question is old, dilapidated, and questionable, what if he's just sending her on a wild goose chase to prove her devotion to him and this only for her to get raped in some alleyway--

Rachel almost has to laugh.

He doesn't have to _set it up_ for her to get raped, he's been doing plenty of that already even without prompting.

Although the fact that she's looking up this address in the first place does imply its own particularity about all of this.

It's hardly _rape_ anymore.

A fact just further reinforced as Rachel stares, eyes wide, at the result of her google search.

 

&

 

Her arrival at the Eugene O'Neill theatre doesn't prove all too helpful, Rachel frowning as she gazes up at the brick forefront of the building. Sure, she might be here three hours early, but that hardly means that she wasn't expecting to find at least a clue or some kind of indicator of where he might be.

Perhaps more importantly, the show seems to start at 8:30pm, just after the exact time she's supposed to meet him here.

"I'm sorry," she finally approaches the ticketing window with a small smile, "but... did someone leave a note here, maybe an envelope, or... something like that?"

The woman looks her up and down for a moment, pursing her lips before she leans down with a curt nod. "Are you Rachel Berry?"

"I... yes."

"Then yes, I was told to give you this," she nods again, handing her an envelope, Rachel staring at its contents for a long moment as she blinks.

"... but this is a ticket to tonight's show."

 

&

 

A part of her-- a very large part, in fact-- can't believe him.

The other part of her _can_ , and she hates him for it just a little bit.

On the one hand, telling her that he's the lead in a famous Broadway musical is a definite liability-- but from the looks of it, he knows her well enough by now that knowing this about him would only make him more desirable in her eyes. That knowing this, she'd never report him, no matter how much she wants to glare at the picture of him in the listing of the cast and the description beside it that tells her that he's a four-times National Showchoir Competition Winner as the lead of Vocal Adrenaline, that he graduated from UCLA-- he's just a few years older than her-- and that he's been _nominated for a Tony Award_.

Asshole.

> _Jesse St. James graduated from the University of California in Los Angeles, where he gave a critically acclaimed performance as Melchior Gabor in their production of _Spring Awakening_ , before coming to New York to try his hand at Broadway. Since then, he's held several roles, including being the youngest actor to play Fiyero on Broadway. Nominated for a Tony Award for his role in this production, Jesse says his favorite thing to do is still people watching on the subway._

A very vindictive part of her wonders if she should tell them that they're missing one-- how much he seems to enjoy _raping women_ on the subway, only to make them like it in the end.

 _Asshole_.

His performance-- which she gets to see in the damn front row-- is executed flawlessly, of course. Not that she expected any differently from _Jesse St. James_ , the man set to perform one of these very songs at the Tony Awards, and Rachel-- in between quiet, under-her-breath mutterings of what an asshole he is (she got too loud earlier, and her seat neighbors started looking at her like she was mad)-- finds herself planning out their future together. If she squints, she can already picture herself seated in the front row to many of his future shows where he's always the star, ritzy gala dinners only for extremely talented Broadway kings and queens like them, joint bank accounts, a carefully planned pregnancy once they're married and she has her own Tony Award to join his on the fireplace mantle of their Prospect Park brownstone.

It's not until the intermission that she catches sight of small writing on the back of her ticket. _Check under your seat_.

She's to the point where she almost expects to find a ring underneath, instead discovering a key to his dressing room taped against the underside.

The anticipation, waiting patiently for the show to be over, to rush to the stage door, to go to see him-- it just about kills her through the second act, and she barely waits until all the applause dies down at the end of the show, not when he catches sight of her in the audience during his bow, throwing her a knowing smile.

It's a miracle her knees don't buckle on the spot, doing her best to force her way through the undeserving crowd that _didn't_ get a personal key handed to them, that aren't about to get to sleep with the lead. He chose _her_. For once in her life, Rachel is better than anyone, and with proof glinting in her hands as she shoves and elbows her way through gaggles of fangirls.

By the time Rachel reaches the rabid crowd around the stage door, she's convinced herself that she's his girlfriend, scowling at the tweens with signs reading _We <3 U Jesse_ and _Marry Me St. James!_

They don't even know what it's like to have his fingers inside of them, and they presume to ask him to marry them.

"Excuse me, Rachel Berry passing through, I have a _key_!" She announces repeatedly with a look of utter superiority on her face as she finally makes her way through the crowd, only to be pulled back by someone.

"There's a line!"

"Oh, I'm not a fan, I'm--"

The hand possessively wrapping around her shoulder from behind wrenches her out of her thoughts, Jesse smiling to her with a nod. "I'm sorry, she's my girlfriend. If you'll excuse us-- I'll be back out shortly."

The crowd just about loses it at that, Jesse leading Rachel easily inside as she clings onto her key. His girlfriend.

She's his _girlfriend._

Rachel feels as though she's in a haze as he leads her up a set of stairs to his dressing room, the back of her neck burning as she repeats the words to herself over and over and over again in her head.

"... I'm your girlfriend?"

He closes and locks the door to his dressing room behind them both, turning to her with a look. "What, you think I do this sort of thing all the time?" Raising his brows at her as he nods for her to take a seat, he leans back against the door with a small smile.

"W-well, no, I just..."

"Thought I was some pervert who only wanted you to fuck you on the F train?"

"No, no, I just-- why me? No one... picks me for anything, unless it's a partner project because everyone knows I'm going to be doing all the wo-- _oh_."

He kisses her before she can finish her sentence, smiling against her lips as he pulls back.

"Did you see those girls out there? They're insane. And you're not one of them. They want to pick me. But I picked you. Because you let me..." His hand starts up her thigh, Rachel's eyes going wide as she watches his fingers slip under her skirt and into her panties, drawing at the wetness there with a gasp from her. "And you _like_ it."

"O-oh god--"

"Come, Rachel," he whispers in her ear, her eyes going wide as his thumb finds her clit, and she moans, hips arching up against his hand.

"P-please--"

"Oh, you're a _loud_ one when I'm not fucking you in the middle of the subway... come on, come for me."

" _Ah_!"

Clenching around his fingers, Rachel moans, loud, hips begging him for more as he lifts her up onto his dressing room counter.

"That's a good girl, come on--"

Rachel spreads her legs as he moves between hers, undoing the button of his pants as he lines himself up with a groan. "I went to see one of your shows about half a year ago--" pushing inside of her-- "y-you were incredible-- I _had_ to have you--" Rachel moans as he starts to thrust desperately inside of her in a long, slightly uneven rhythm-- "h-how lucky was I when I found out that we-- t-took the same train-- and those _skirts_ \--"

Rachel feels his thumb move to her clit and screams, moving against him as she comes, clenching desperately around his length.

"-- f-fuck--"

Jesse thrusts into her one more time with a groan, feeling himself come as his eyes roll back, and he moans, keeping her close as her arms wrap around his neck.

"J-jesus--"

"Oh god..."

"I never want to go another day without doing that."

 

&

 

Voice lessons at ten and rehearsal at noon means that Rachel needs to be awake by seven thirty and out of the door by nine thirty to head down to the subway in order to be early, biting her lip as she scrambles to catch up with the fact that she overslept.

It's not all true.

It's just easy to get carried away by a half hour or so when in bed with someone else-- especially if they have a tendency to _distract_.

The lopsided smile stays with her, though, as she waits on the platform, not quite catching sight of the prying eyes that seem to be watching her.

Getting on the train, she moves to take one of the center poles to hold onto, all the seats already taken as the traincar slowly fills up. She never noticed before how empty it is where she used to get on, but. She doesn't mind, not anymore.

The train jostles to a quick start, Rachel falling back against a firm body as her eyes widen a bit, and she mutters a soft _sorry_ under her breath, her hands tightening on the pole in front of her.

That's when the feeling of someone's hand shifting against her breast from their positioning on the metal pole hits her

Then the feeling of the back of their hand moving against the swell of her ass.

 _It's nothing_ , she reminds herself dutifully, _just the back of someone's hand_ , and she bites her lip at the feeling of knuckles tracing the slight swell of her ass visible under her skirt.

She really needs to adjust her wardrobe a bit.

The traincar stops, and she ends up only squished in a bit more tightly, her stranger seeming to have no problems whatsoever to grope at her ass much more insistently now as Rachel stiffens, clearing her throat to get his attention as she fights to move her ass away.

She almost gasps when he grabs hold of her hips and pulls them back against his obviously tented pants, her eyes going wide.

"O-oh--"

But the guy standing beside her talking very animatedly in Spanish to a woman that doesn't seem to care beside him is enough to drown out her voice, a whimper leaving her at the feeling of him rubbing his cock up and down her ass with a groan, just barely.

Until the train car starts moving again, and he uses the commotion to slip his fingers into her panties, up her dripping cunt, Rachel barely managing to hold herself up as the feeling of his finger-fucking her reverberates through her whole body.

He's too good at this, and she comes once, twice from the feeling of his finger playing at her clit as he keeps two of them moving inside of her.

It's mortifying, humiliating in a way, that this would be happening to her like this, as publicly as it is.

The man finally pulls his fingers free from her, his hand on the pole still enjoying the feeling of her chest pressed against it entirely too much as Rachel shudders.

His hand remains on her hip for the entire rest of the ride, and when Rachel gets off at Bryant Park, she's not alone.

She hardly has time to react before her very same stranger from before spins her around and presses her up against one of the beams on the subway platform to kiss her, hard, Rachel smiling against his lips as she strives to return the favor.

The man is going to be her husband, after all.

She owes him that much.

_fin_


End file.
